Best Showpiece Poems
(Dedication: For Dr Ram Mehta.)
Morning light
Spreads divine psalm --
Touch of zest
By this stone bench
Sleeping cat purrs --
Feline dreamscapes
That old man sits alone
Strange neighbour --
Thoughtful wanderings
Sadness in shock:
Food court bankrupt --
Ghost town feeling
Dress fitting session
Bridal gowns, smart suits --
A lovely affair
Just because
You said so --
Let it be then
Brief excursion
Nowhere near --
Beyond conflict
Open agenda
This showpiece --
Mood swing construct
Cheer wears a face
Serious as glee;
Smiles punctuate
For many hours
This wait upon --
Something new perhaps
Meal time in-between
Lunch and dinner --
Not quite the same
Gifts freely given
Notice brisk gratitude --
Thoughtful intent
Style a smile
Wait a while --
Cheer now piles
Explore fringes
Curiosity peeks --
Discovery sublime
Leon Enriquez
05 June 2014
Singapore
The artist, Spring, has painted many hours
On easel earth, creating lovely flowers
Strawberry blossoms giggle, ‘look at me’
As each is a masterpiece nominee
Look at me? But there’s not enough time
To admire each showpiece so sublime
The strawberry plant, slightly a still life
Yet full of life, that seamlessly grows rife
We rejoice in those wee little blossoms
Will they be surpassed with fruit so awesome?
In the hoped-for painting upcoming
Yet pre-judgement is unbecoming
There’s no denying what Spring has created
And ‘Look at me’, never gets dated
We’re very grateful that we visited
This masterpiece Spring has exhibited
May 13, 2023
Couplet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Sotto Poet
The national flower of Ukraine- yellow for joy,
in a beautiful landscape that war will destroy !
A symbol of optimism, solidarity and peace,
in my garden sunflowers will be a showpiece !
And sunflowers lifting their heads to the sun,
will always remind me of courage undone !
_______________________
March 16, 2022
Poetry/Couplet/Ukraine's Sunflower
Copyright Protected, ID 03-1440-228-16
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Bite Size Poem, No.40
sponsor, Line Gauthier, Judged 03/26/2022
Sun sets, sky glows cerise.
Throw the nets, catch showpiece.
Fish abound, birds take off
All fly round, it's payoff
Birds last meal, night is nigh
Strange feel, gratified high.
17 August 2021
Image 1
6 syllables per line.
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Diary of a House
On a street called Curve
I rest on lovely land
Born when Elvis was young
Born with high hopes.
A cuddly couple came to see,
See me in my fresh pine smell
Pure white-grouted rose brick tiles
They with chest-grasping smiles and dreams.
The nursery filled, new paint would wait
My dress of green unmowed was shred.
Loss of work, he buried his head,
"Please vacate" the notice said.
And then the business lady
Led strangers through my veins
I wept for my little family,
Lost to me.
My roof raised its prickles
Don Juan in his new Mercedes,
A fledgling barrister with cans of color,
New hope coursed in me.
Soon his interest waned,
As a bachelor’s life would do,
Dishes piled, floors reviled,
Grass and shrubs just grew.
And now do I dare to care?
Burly Dad, a 50ish mom,
My lovely land is smooth,
Beds though bare of blossom.
Still, I sport some Christmas lights,
On my 50's gingerbread,
Hope again lurks surface close,
Come spring to hold up my head.
Impatiens and pansies will curve
And coil around my base,
Flotinias will adorn me,
My green dress mended, clean faced.
A showpiece I’ll be among scoffers,
Who looked away from my tears,
For the families that grew in them,
Are growing old, in their crumbling years.
The smell is a fine one;
The death of a traitor
is always sweet
I feel the pulse of the cheers
echo through the city
when the mighty fall
or the wretched scum meet their end
Then they send the heads to me
Parboiled
Dipped in tar
Beautifully macabre
And I get to work
Proudly plying my trade
For there's a colour to my craft
and a heritage I'm proud to continue
If there's time, I'll slowly snake my way
along to the Southwark gate
Passing each shop, each house
Hearing every call
Acknowledging every known face
Through the bustle and noise
Soaking up the bridges' glorious atmosphere
It's a joy to serve the King and the City in this way
This is more than just a pike
More than just a head
It's a Showpiece
Yes, I confess the odd specimen gives me trouble
Becomes a tad too putrid
Or too popular with the pecking gulls
Some tell me they've seen
empty eye sockets stare
and rotting flesh twitch
'Unnerving' is the word they use.
I don't see it myself, but
Now and then one will cause a fuss
and jam the bridge solid
As everyone clamours to get a look
I smile. Wait for nightfall
And yield it to the Thames
Rather a shame,
but it clears some space for the next one
And, of course, there is always a next one.
Utterly cold waters for two southerners from Oslo.
They take our breath away when swimming.
The land of the midnight sun and the gorgeous
Aurora lights are featured at Uttakleiv Beach.
Kept our eyes open too for unusual sights at
Lofoten Islands in northern Norway.
Eye of the Dragon was one showpiece - a most
Intriguing natural rock formation -
Visibly impressive, virtually unmatched.
Both my wife Nora and I, have our bucket lists.
Each of us have longed to visit our northernmost
Arctic Circle area and its famous fjords.
Colossal - the Trollfjordan near Lofoten which
Hails as the best holiday site ever in Norway.
April 12, 2023
I Dont Give A Fig About The Brouhaha...
of new year's eve,
yet yours truly does consider
at least one singular plum me facet by Jeeve
er...Robert (or Rabbie) Burns,
a profoundly poignant poem, he did conceive.
Anyway, this wordsmith fascinated
by historical lyricist whose unbelieve
hub bull lee brief life, nonetheless
made a lasting contribution,
a psalm burr tune folks across webbed
wide world sing to grieve
of recent sorrows past, plus pay
homage to joys summoned from
deep within core of soul bellowed
forth with an exultant heave
perhaps unbeknownst to most Robert Burns
(25 January 1759 – 21 July 1796) did leave
his lasting legacy, sans (as national poet
of Scotland celebrated worldwide)
particularly the classic traditional chestnut
auld lang syne rendered in many versions
waving white capping
New Year's eve celebration proud
accomplishments one did achieve.
Coincidentally, "Auld Lang Syne"
and "America the Beautiful"
at which juncture, I interject
a historical grace note to mull
how latter named above patriotic
song in the United States,
(lyrics written by Katharine Lee
Bates saw many occasions
after music composed by church organist
and choirmaster Samuel
A. Ward at Grace Episcopal Church
in Newark, New Jersey) dull
lighting oomph and pizazz, extant
since early 1900s, origin gin null
intent format arranged as poem,
"Pikes Peak first published
Fourth of July full
edition of the church periodical
The Congregationalist in 1895,
now sung by mull teat hoods at Super Bowl
every year since 2009, and appeared pull
say ting stadiums at some sports events
after the 9/11 terror attack hull
lob bell loo in 2001.
The song comprises four verses,
one of isung before kick-off
in NFL's showpiece game.
Just by giving cerebral activity free rein,
this inquisitive mind of mine
learned how twenty first century New Year's
celebration include auld lang syne
linkedin with feted mid eighteenth poet
laureate, whose death at thirty seven, his spine
tingling spirit issues forth to give
him immortality almost divine
everlasting longevity within the pantheon
of August artists who humanity did assign
an eternal place future generations will
revere such metrical design.
Friends congregate
Party mood trickles;
Familiar laughter drowns
Once upon
A dream come true;
Foreign expectations
Invest shoppe
Moments meander;
Burst of high tide
Moaning and groaning
Kettle steam retorts;
Morning brew transits
So many words
Unsaid, unheard;
Uneasy non-conversation
Awkward these glances
Feelings suspended;
Anticipation ignored
Simple ritual
By this park bench;
Watching time doing nothing
Path of sure ease
If you please;
Leave plot behind
Corner shop
Selling ***** goods;
Curious onlookers
Chinatown haunts
Quaint shoppes;
Random walk-ins
Ancient goods
Antiquity packaged;
Modern labels flaunt
Things Oriental
Goods and services;
Tipping welcome
Geylang highlights
Ancient evenings;
By plumeria scents
This new stadium
Spectacular showpiece;
Sports illustrated
Leon Enriquez
09 May 2014
Singapore
Passion
Enveloping the evolution of eternity as she radiates dark hues of red and violet, swaying through the hidden passageways of the soul.
She loves to travel, finding enrichment in the beauty of life, gently shaping the world with her searing touch.
She loves learning languages from foreign lands of ancient descent connecting to the roots of the written and spoken word.
She cares deeply about the world, wondering whether or not it cares for her, though bearing the disappointment of it all the same.
Passion engages in an on and off relationship with Desire, giving into the temptation that he incessantly needs, feening for his presence, though utterly left disappointed at his lack of dependability. This causes her love life to suffer greatly, always longing for something more, frequently scouring the realms of Intelligence’s mind for the answers. Though his pragmatic cognition dwells upon her free spirit. At least Intelligence is smart enough to never expect anything more from her. Unlike the reign of Ambition, who yields the same constricting grasp as Intelligence, though whose raw impulses mimic those of Desire’s lustful eye. He conjures strength from her essence and she tends to idolize him for his intense willpower. Devaluing herself as just another showpiece of his greed. At the end of the day, mourning the losses of power hungry motives and accepting the fact that not even she could save him from himself.
Most times Passion feels as though Inspiration is the only loyal companion she has left to bare her sufferings. Helping build her into something real and beautiful when persuaded by the illusions of deceit. Showing her the mass expanse of creativity and adventure. leading her to gain individualism in her own unique form of quintessential growth. And in the end guiding her transcendence towards an all encompassing freedom, ultimately giving into the power of love.
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Wake Up Black Man
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: May/2017
Black man, I see that you have
lost your way -
chasing after women of another
race -
I'm your black queen, but, what
does that mean?
I'm not your first choice, so you
look away -
I wish that you would see me,
and be amazed!
I am beautiful all the way
it's who I be - get with me
The one who's always here;
black like your mother who gave
birth to you.
Ain't I a woman too -
Black man, I know that your heart
is far from your black roots -
to lust after women not of the
same hue -
Your choice of a woman is a lie -
It's shallow, and that ain't cute.
She's just a showpiece on display
to feed an ego for all to see -
I'm not that woman, nor will I ever
be.
A trophy woman to parade around
in the streets.
This black woman will not abandon
you, for a man not the skin as you.
I'll always keep it one hundred;
black, strong and true.
In prayer - In faith,
never giving up hope for you.
Quit playing, come back home
to your black roots.
I'm your Queen
You're my King
I'm holding it down
straight up!
black and proud
I'm that ride or die chick,
keeping it real
no games
no tricks
So wake up black man,
I got your back;
cause I believe in you -
I run to you
I'm here for you -
come for me....come for me
the one in the same skin as you -
Ain't I a woman too
Copyright (c)., Ken Jordan 2017
One from the 1850s,
I bought it from a Scotsman thrifty,
on the windswept Isle of Skye,
its browning cover caught my eye,
old paper that’s weathered to tan,
each leaf thick and dry in my hands,
an imperious title-page,
and the high English of that age,
once a proud showpiece for a home,
when books were pricey, barely known.
Early western, 1914,
full of villains and bandits mean,
black and while plate on the first sheet,
basic Roman fonts, cold and neat,
scratchy fabric on the cover,
like crack to an old book-lover,
small publisher, long ago lost,
tales forgotten, so cheap the cost,
a curio, few know it’s here,
the fun that enthralled yesteryear.
Paperback, 1946,
bright cover, like posters for flicks,
first seen in the pulp magazines,
tales of dastardly doings and fiends,
pocket-sized so it slips away,
it seems small in the modern day,
the teachers once scoffed in disdain,
“It only sought to entertain…”
Falling apart, bring out the tape,
since this kind of reading is great.
Bound classics, 1952,
enshrine time-tested points-of-view,
matched series, no pictures, all words,
print so tiny it seems absurd!
Bible-paper to fit it all in,
ancient scribes, philosophers grim,
spines crack when you open the tome,
once made young college students groan,
few were read, and yet they still sell,
’cause they look real nice on a shelf.
An omnibus from ’83,
the best of Jack London for me,
received it as a Christmas gift,
public domain brings good profits,
smooth cover, in two colors cast,
dust jacket with wolves, running fast,
buffet of a dead author’s work,
tales told from all over the earth,
read half, but I mean to get back,
if I ever find time for that.
Now our ‘books’ are screens with blue light,
one more device, it never feels right,
and I have used them, I attest,
yet I still think ‘How is this progress?’
a showpiece
a speciality
to
declaim:
visually clever
a retort even
to circulate:
enfolded
in a prestigious
compendium
of the poetsirregular&glib-
a hackneyed canticle
to provoke
or not
A little bit of spice and everything nice,
Let's make sure there is no vice
Every time I roll the dice
I am being pushed sidewise,
I always hear their cries,
"Let live by our size,
Don't have to tell you twice".
Even then I try to rise;
But you open your files to categorize.
Short hair, big books, wide glass,
I' m spin-off into a vied Laplace,
Lipsticks, bangles and a little femininity,
Among peers I'm an embrittled liability,
Little confused, little dreamy, little mousy,
They ask, why I' m not lousy,
All three roles I played,
And here is my jaded tirade,
I am the brunt of capitalism, the showpiece of feminism,
I am lauded for my conventionalism, dreaded for my sensualism,
I am the poster child for activism, the sole bearer of matrimonial symbolism,
I am the prey of sexism, the mockery of egalitarianism.
But till now I stand still,
With hope, that one day I could instil,
My swill for future generations to fulfil.
I know I'm equal,
When I'm celebrated as a survivor, not treated as a victim,
I know I'm equal,
When I'm not made to feel shame for my desires or feel lame for my trinkets,
I know I'm equal,
When I'm not pacified as agreeable or classified as a harridan,
I know I'm equal,
When I'm not awed for my mediocrity,
When I'm not fanfared on a day,
When my birth out to make you proud,
When I am me because of me.
Spring starts the year with soft flowers
Sometimes brought with gentle showers
Air fragrant with scents that devours
Hues so bright and bold that glowers
Green grass which also empowers
Rabbits hide in brush and cowers
Blue skies show their calming powers
Buds seem to open through the hours
Winter waves goodbye through scourers
Spring’s beautiful tales are all ours
~
Summer opens with stunned fervor
Welcome sun rays that do nurture
Beach trips that add life preserver
Roses in much shades add favor
Small cookouts bring the server
Birds fly past to gently murmur
Kids buy cones in every flavor
Trimming hedges seems so clever
Lawns are mown for the observer
Summer’s joy, the perfect merger
~
Autumn creates a sense of peace
With leaves falling softly to cease
Limbs stark and naked to decease
Mums create a vivid showpiece
Lakes say sad goodbyes to the geese
The crunch of the leaves does increase
Bouncing in raked leaves is caprice
Some take nature walks without fleece
These cheerful blushes are so nice
Autumn’s certainly God’s showpiece
~
Winter brings in the harsh weather
As the birds may lose a feather
Horses bridled with smooth leather
Gigs throw snow round altogether
Some ride sleds that they will tether
Cardinals trust the snow measure
Many love snow days much better
It seems nice to wear a sweater
Ice hangs down from eaves together
Winter’s blessings are a treasure
~
Spring’s forests fill with wildflowers
A time that brings no wallflowers
Summer’s sunshine is a searcher
Some days bring about a scorcher
Autumn brings about a new lease
For a season shared with a niece
Winter’s clear skies last forever
Reminding us to take shelter
God’s paintbrush portrays the seasons
Showing us He has His reasons
October 7, 2019
LUDix-Rym Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Lu Loo